


you believed in your fairy tale endings (now you find yourself down on your knees)

by serenitysea



Series: in our story of riddles and poems (every word that you speak tastes like stone) [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heartbreak, Love, mid season finale feels, s3 spec, these feels are nothing we were ever trained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka: the five ways skye doesn't get to say goodbye (to the people she loves.)</p><p>*</p><p>with some ragged sense of pride, he ignores the fists driven into his stomach and the way his arms are wrenched tightly behind his back as he’s dragged into the truck. he doesn’t fight the hood being dropped back over his head at coulson’s command – he just holds steady, watching her until the burlap covers his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>i will never lie to you again.</i></p><p> </p><p>skye makes it as far as an empty closet before she gives way to the kind of tears that rip the breath from your lungs and leave you gasping for air.</p><p>and there, in the privacy of darkness and her own terrible thoughts, she gives voice to the only question she’d never been able to ask: “<i>why did you lie to me in the first place?</i>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you believed in your fairy tale endings (now you find yourself down on your knees)

**Author's Note:**

> i would say i'm sorry but that would be a lie.

{ **ward**. }

it’s stupid to think anything different. he’s a spy, this is a world that thrives on secrets and sleight of hand. intelligence is not just the measure of someone’s mental knowledge but the power of currency in a world with constantly shifting boundaries and rules.

he sits locked in that vault, feet below the surface, as if the sun does not even have the right to shine upon him. no one shall see his face – like some kind of twisted greek myth where the punishment far exceeds the crime.

she tells herself it’s better that way.

and when he’s finally set free – given over to the hands of someone even she knew better than to trust – she tries to keep her mouth shut, tries like hell to keep the words from bubbling up.

but she’s impulsive, and reactive; she doesn’t take the time to think before she speaks because then she might actually have to feel _regret_. and this? she doesn’t regret this.

she tears free from jemma’s grip, slips away from may’s reach and meets some kind of weary understanding in trip’s eyes when she’s running down the hall like a thing possessed. she _has_ to have the final word. she has to prove to him that he doesn’t affect her in the slightest. that she’s better than he ever gave her credit for.

she makes it just in time to see them load him into the armored van, to hear him taunt coulson one last time: “ _tell skye i won’t forget my promise_.”

“i wish you _would_ ,” she shouts, voice clear and strong; everything she so desperately wants to be.

in that moment, it is as if coulson and the armored guards cease to exist. there is just herself and ward, locked into a staring match that neither will give cause to break.

she wants to erase every piece of knowledge he’s ever given her, every feeling he’s ever generated by looking at her with those soft brown eyes that _see_ too much. she wants to know that once he gets driven away in that van, she’ll never have to see him again.

but this is grant ward. he’s the best since romanoff.

they both know she won’t be that fortunate. ~~part of her hates how comforting that is.~~

he doesn’t wink at her, or make some cocky remark. she doesn’t see that confident swagger come back to life in his veins, or the teasing light back in his eyes. he looks exactly like what he is: _a broken man_.

and yet, he still refuses to break her gaze.

with some ragged sense of pride, he ignores the fists driven into his stomach and the way his arms are wrenched tightly behind his back as he’s dragged into the truck. he doesn’t fight the hood being dropped back over his head at coulson’s command – he just holds steady, watching her until the burlap covers his eyes.

 _i will never lie to you again_.

skye makes it as far as an empty closet before she gives way to the kind of tears that rip the breath from your lungs and leave you gasping for air.

and there, in the privacy of darkness and her own terrible thoughts, she gives voice to the only question she’d never been able to ask: “ _why did you lie to me in the first place_?”

 

{ **trip**. }

in a perfect world, there is no chamber.

there are no crystals or mists; no woman in a flowered dress to lead them all down the path to hell itself.

in a perfect world, she takes raina out before she ever makes it to the caves.

trip doesn’t follow her down because she’s already back, having neutralized the threat.

in a perfect world, she doesn’t say goodbye to trip.

she doesn’t have to.

because in a perfect world, trip never dies.

 

{ **jiaying**. }

she walks in on the meeting with her mother and gonzales and sees the bracelet.

from the corner of her eye, she sees her mother reaching for the gun.

sees gonzales where he sits, unaware and pathetically unarmed.

she doesn’t shout, doesn’t try to understand what reason her mother could possibly have for shooting a defenseless man point blank.

she just lifts her hand and _pushes_ , sending him safely clear of the bullet’s trajectory.

and when her mother traces the ripples of the floor to where she is standing in the doorway, she sends the gun flying from her hands, clattering to the ground far out of reach.

“let’s talk, _mom_.”

“i can _explain_.”

there are literally no words for how much she _hates_ when people say that to her.

 

{ **cal**. }

the hallway isn’t enough for her.

a hug cannot convey the sheer multitude of what she feels for her father; there is no way arms around another person is thanks for taking the hardest decision in her life out of her hands.

so she skirts the security, waits for the techs to change shifts, hacks her way into the room.

and when he comes out of the machine, looking groggy and disoriented, she reaches for his hand with a blinding smile.

“do we know each other?” it’s somehow comforting that her father is unfailingly quirky and polite, even after being stripped of who he was on such a deep level.

she shakes her head, willing back the tears in her eyes. “i just wanted to let you know that everything is going to be all right.” 

“a pretty girl like yourself telling me that everything is going to be fine, well. i must be a luckiest man alive.”

“i wouldn’t lie to you.” her smile falters just for a second until she squeezes his hand, clasping it tightly between hers. “how do you feel about pets?”

 

{ **ward**. }

they’ve heard about it all before; how something came back wearing ward’s skin – but it is so much dangerous and more powerful than ward could ever hope to be.

she knows now – _oh she how she knows_ – that he never wanted this. that he spent his whole life being hollowed out as a weapon for everyone else and this? this is the kind of things everlasting nightmares are made of. the kind of thing you wake up screaming about in the dark with sheets twisted around your legs and _walls shaking and picture frames shattered on the ground and_ –

she understands why he made the choices he did, the how and why of his getting so lost along the way.

which is why she knows what she has to do.

it’s not hard to track him down; death leaves a wide swath of destruction in his wake, caring little about repercussions and damage, both tangible and abstract.

she meets him in an empty clearing, taking in the way he holds himself – bigger, harder, _tougher_ – and knows this will not be an easy fight.

she doesn’t care anymore.

 _none_ of this is what she signed up for and so it’s fitting that he’ll be the one to see it go down.

“you aren’t ready for me, little girl.”

all the _knowing_ in the world does nothing to prepare her for how it feels when _his_ voice comes out of that _thing_. how it chills the blood in her veins, sending warnings up the back of her neck and automatically calling her abilities forward, surging to the very pads of her fingertips.

“i like my odds.” she steps closer even as she forces her power back down from where it came, ignoring the klaxon alarms that go off in her head.

“you shouldn’t. i’ve got everything he ever was and i know _exactly_ who you are. this ends badly for you no matter how you slice it.”

she knows that. she _knows_ that.

it’s why she tracked him down in the first place.

but she isn’t going to let this _thing_ take over ward forever. in fact, she isn’t going to let him take ward any second longer than she has to.

this ends now.

she digs her heels in, ruthlessly squashes the chills running down her spine. lifts her chin like it’s just another morning in the cargo bay, and he’s insisting that she needs to wake up earlier, take training more seriously, eat a better breakfast if she intends to _ever_ become a shield agent. she gathers it all up and uses the ache of nostalgia and _what could have been_ like a double edged _knife_ (stabbing herself as she goes down) to fuel her command:

“take me instead.”

it’s clear from the way he tips his head in curiosity that this is not an option he had foreseen. 

but he talks like ward, he looks like ward, he _moves_ like lighting – just like ward.

so when he’s got her in a lockgrip she can’t escape, she doesn’t panic. she doesn’t fight and she doesn’t back down.

she lifts her head and catches him off guard in a _bruising_ kiss; the kind you use to punish; it’s the kind where she’d grab his collar and drag him down to her mouth if her hands her free and not yanked behind her back; the kind where she’d _insist_ that he was a good man and prove it with her own feelings regardless of the cost to her soul ( _and oh god how it had cost her **everything** )_ –

– the kind where you discover that _everything you’ve ever known_ was a lie and you can’t hope for anything but one moment of truth in the maelstrom of lies – _tell me it wasn’t all a lie – tell me this much, if nothing else – is true_.

the _thing_ wearing his face rears back in surprise, cloudy arrogance fading from his eyes and clearing into the whiskey brown sharp awareness she knows so well.

“ _skye_?” ward asks, agonized confusion dripping from his voice.

she wants to throw her head back in triumph; she wants to shout to the heavens and scream her relief; she wants to sag to her knees with the unspeakable relief – she was **_right_**. 

_he’s still in there._

even as she can feel herself slipping away, getting pulled under by wills and desires not her own; being overwritten and underscored by _so many stabs of pain and hurt_ _and the crushing anguish of everyone who has died before_ –

“just wanted to let you know…” she looks at him one last time, darkness creeping into the edges of her vision as she struggles to keep him in focus. “i _understand_ now.”

and ward opens his mouth to scream –

– but she’s gone before he can draw breath.

*

 _sing me a love song_  
_you’re my man_  
_will you always love me_  
_the  b e s t  you can?_

**Author's Note:**

> IT CAN'T ALL BE LARA AU ALL THE TIME FRIENDS. 
> 
> TIME FOR ME TO RECLAIM MY THRONE AS EMPRESS OF FEELS. 
> 
> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com).  
> \+ title and lyrics from jack savoretti's _harder than easy_


End file.
